


somehow, morning

by lacquer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Dreams, Future Fic, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips, can be read as gen if you'd like, mentions of enlistment, pre woncheol.... they're figuring things out, scoups is Good that's the thesis, themes of identity (as relating to being an idol)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26081890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacquer/pseuds/lacquer
Summary: Hansol raises an eyebrow at him and gets up, sitting down nearer to Seungcheol’s side. “Where to?” He doesn’t question the trip though, something Seungcheol is distantly grateful for. He’s not sure exactly why he suggested it.“I’m not sure,” Seungcheol says. He wants to see something he’s never seen before, breathe in new air. “Why don’t you take me to America?”
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups & Chwe Hansol | Vernon, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Jeon Wonwoo
Comments: 24
Kudos: 44
Collections: Coup de Cœur - Round 1





	somehow, morning

**Author's Note:**

> no warnings apply that i can think of, besides the most obscure references to anxiety, but if you think anything deserves a mention, let me know and i can add it
> 
> title is a vague reference to kemi alabi's "A Wedding, or What We Unlearned from Descartes"

Seungcheol winds up at the dorms, after the meeting with the company's executives. He's unmoored; his thoughts take him in circles, his feet take him to Wonwoo’s side. 

The other man is curled up before his computer like a cat. Seungcheol wanders into the room (his own room, kindly shared with Wonwoo's gaming set up) and hooks his chin over his shoulder.

Wonwoo barely even reacts. “Welcome back, hyung. How’d the meeting go?”

“Bad,” Seungcheol says, sighing into the word. His hair flops over his eyes and he reconsiders. “I don’t know. Not bad. Confusing.”

Wonwoo hums. He’s never been much for casual touch but he doesn’t shake Seungcheol off as he continues to game. Some sort of book is sitting next to his keyboard, a bookmark placed halfway through. Seungcheol wants to ask about it.

“What did they tell you?” Wonwoo asks. 

“We’ve got a break,” Seungcheol tells Wonwoo’s collarbone. 

At this, Wonwoo finally stops his video game. “We’ve got a what?”

“Two weeks,” Seungcheol says. “We can do whatever we like as long as we get back in time for—” He cuts himself off, but they both know what he means.

Wonwoo shakes him off his shoulder abruptly. “Why don’t you go tell the others, then?” he asks, assuming (correctly) that of everyone, Seungcheol had chosen to go to him first with the news. When Seungcheol hesitates, he turns back to his computer. 

“We have a meeting this evening, I can tell them then,” Seungcheol says, flopping onto his bed. “Yah, Wonwoo. Don’t try to kick me out of my own room.”

“I would never,” Wonwoo lies.

Seungcheol pulls out his phone and snorts, scrolling through his messages. He doesn’t mention it again.

* * *

Mingyu raises his hand, when Seungcheol finishes telling them the news. Seungcheol points to him, despite the fact that it makes him feel like a Kindergarten teacher. “Mingyu?”

“So let me get this straight, we get two weeks off to do… anything? Whatever we want?”

By his side, Seungkwan elbows him in the ribs. “That’s what he said.”

“I’m just double checking,” Mingyu says, momentarily diverted. 

Seungcheol butts in before they can really get going. “As long as one of the managers knows where you’re going, you’re free to go wherever.”

“Their way of easing us into it,” Jeonghan says from where he’s laying down, half over the couch and half over Joshua’s lap. All thirteen of them are sitting in the common room, sprawled over couches and chairs and each other. 

From the other end of the couch, Jihoon stretches out one of his legs. “It’s time off. Are you really going to argue about it?”

Jeonghan nudges him with his foot. “You know what I meant.”

Jihoon makes a face and nods. “Yeah. How public is this?"

Seungcheol sits back and listens to them all talk it over for a while. For the most part, being a leader means this: Listening. Watching the sway of body language. Holding his palm over every beating heart in the room. 

Jeonghan needles a bit more, but none of them take him that seriously. The prospect of time off— Well, they’re all eager to jump at the chance.

“Where are you going to go?” Wonwoo asks the room at large. He’s looking at Seungcheol as he says it.

“I’m going back home,” Chan says, oblivious to the byplay. “My brother is coming back soon. I'll take everyone out for dinner.”

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Seungcheol says, and it feels honest. Far too honest actually. From the corner of his eye he can see Jeonghan give him a _look._ Wonwoo stays steady, and Seungcheol stares back at him. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“Better figure it out quick,” Seungkwan says, breaking in, and Seungcheol looks away from Wonwoo first. “What about you Hansol?” 

Hansol turns his head from where he’s laying half against Minghao’s legs, and considers Seungkwan’s question. “I’m not sure either. My sister's out for a short exchange trip and my parents have business, so I’m not really heading anywhere.”

“Boring,” Seungkwan says, kindly. 

Hansol laughs. “Yeah, no doubt. I’ll figure it out Seungkwan.”

“Come on a trip with me,” Seungcheol says, impulsively. Around him, conversation rises like a swelling tide.

The meeting had fallen apart while he was looking at Wonwoo. Over in the corner, Jihoon has abandoned his couch seat to talk to Chan, Soonyoung orbiting them like a high speed, tiger patterned comet; Minghao and Mingyu are looking at something on Seokmin’s phone; and even Jeonghan’s attention has strayed to Joshua. 

Hansol raises an eyebrow at him and gets up, sitting down nearer to Seungcheol’s side. “Where to?” He doesn’t question the trip though, something Seungcheol is distantly grateful for. He’s not sure exactly why he suggested it.

“I’m not sure,” Seungcheol says. He wants to see something he’s never seen before, breathe in new air. “Why don’t you take me to America?”

Hansol wrinkles his nose. “Hyung, I haven’t been there since we were last on tour. Can’t we go visit Jeju or something?”

“You just want to visit Seungkwan’s mom,” Seungcheol accuses. 

“Well…” Hansol says, and grins, unrepentant. “She does make good crab.”

This is true. Seungcheol’s mouth briefly waters. Ignoring that, he tips his head imploringly. “Isn’t there anywhere you’ve ever wanted to go? Don’t tell me you saw everything you wanted to last time we were there.”

Hansol laughs. Seungcheol didn’t really mean it as a joke, but he understands.

Tours aren’t about them, not really. They’re about _Seventeen,_ about sweaty nights and loud lights and the roar of fans from every side. Tours are about keeping themselves rested for a string of performances, and sometimes—just sometimes—carving away a small slice of adventure for themselves. Seungcheol doesn’t kid himself; he hasn’t truly _visited_ any city S. Coups has been in. 

“I guess I didn’t,” Hansol says. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure,” Seungcheol says. Around them, conversation crashes like waves hitting rock as Jihoon jumps on Soonyoung for some comment or another. “New York, maybe?”

“Cross country!” Hansol grins at him. “Maybe we can hit some national parks.” At the mention of "we", Seungcheol grins back.

“I’ve never taken you as one for hiking,” he says, words on an upward tilt.

Hansol shrugs, an expansive gesture. “I’m not. But it’s something new, right? It’s the reason they’re giving us time off at all.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the last time you can go before your enlistment,” Hansol says, straight-faced. It feels like the first time someone has said the words out loud. Logically, Seungcheol knows that can’t be right, but Hansol’s forthrightness is like a breath of fresh air. 

“Yeah, it is,” Seungcheol says. “Why not, right?”

Hansol nods. “Ok, why not.”

* * *

After that, things seem to blur. Seungcheol smiles brightly until their last few interviews are through, takes a final page of notes at a company meeting, and packs up a suitcase for a week long trip across the American countryside. 

For once, there are no managers following them into the airport. There are no fans, either. 

Seungcheol’s not sure how the staff managed it, but they take off from Incheon in complete anonymity, but for one of the gate attendants recognizing Hansol. 

“Traveling home?” she asks Hansol, and Seungcheol can see the other man frown slightly. 

“Just a short trip,” Hansol says, and walks into the plane.

Seungcheol gets his ticket scanned and walks in after him. “You good?” he asks, even though he knows it’s redundant. He's probably brushed it off by now—Seungcheol has heard countless similar questions thrown Hansol’s way. All well meaning, all like having an ankle turn on solid ground.

“Yeah,” Hansol says. He doesn’t quite smile, but the corners of his eyes relax. _It’s deliberate,_ Seungcheol thinks. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

Just before he turns his plane to airplane mode, Seungcheol checks his messages. There’s a picture from Chan of his younger brother, an update from Jeonghan, and a very brief message from Wonwoo that reads _Fly safe, text me when you land._

 _Will do,_ Seungcheol types back. 

And then, after another moment’s thought he adds _< 3\. _

* * *

When the plane starts to descend, Seungcheol uncovers the window. He had napped through half the flight and he's eager to see their destination. The planes gives him a front row view of Seattle as it appears through layers of gauzy clouds.

The last time Seungcheol was here, it had been raining in sheets, and he had arrived via bus. Now he can really appreciate the scenery. From this high up the approach to SeaTac stuns with how _green_ it is, pine trees wreathed in fog.

His head grows tight until he pops his ears, and just like that they’re landing, feet hitting the ground, ready for whatever a week in America will bring them.

Turns out, the first thing it brings them is paperwork.

“Sign here,” the woman at the rental car counter tells them, pushing a contract across. 

Seungcheol signs and Hansol signs and that is how they end up in a minivan, bright red and eight seats long. When they’re all down, Seungcheol can nearly lie flat, staring up at the soft grey ceiling.

“You can drive out like this,” Seungcheol tells him, head pillowed on his hands. Their bags knock against his feet as he swings them, luxuriating. “I’ll stay back here.”

“What will you tell the people who see you?” laughs Hansol.

“I’m part of the luggage,” Seungcheol says, and closes his eyes. “Nothing to see here.” He relishes the sound of Hansol laughing again as the other man rummages around the front of the van.

“Well luggage-nim, care to navigate us out of the airport?” Hansol starts the van up, and Seungcheol scrambles into the passenger seat.

"Of course." Hansol pulls the van out of the lot and Seungcheol pulls up his maps app, pointing them to i-405.

They’re spending the night in Seattle before traveling on through the mountains. Neither one of them wants to drive too far after just getting off a 10 hour flight. Most of their trip is planned out, hotel bookings already made, national park passes already acquired. 

Hansol yawns as they pull into the hotel’s parking lot, and Seungcheol can feel an answering expression pulling at his lips. 

When they get to their room, he doesn’t even bother with a shower, just flops face first on the bed. Sleep comes quickly to him that night. He dreams.

_“Where are you going?” Wonwoo asks him, one hand on the steering wheel._

_Seungcheol blinks. The red van is heading up a mountain, into a field of stars. Outside the window, constellations pinwheel past._

_“Wherever you’re taking us,” Seungcheol replies._

_“I’m not the one driving,” Wonwoo says._

_Seungcheol looks again, and there’s no more steering wheel. The van accelerates towards the top of the mountain. Right before they reach the top, Seungcheol closes his eyes._

When he opens his eyes, it’s nearly noon. His body is heavy, jetlag like sludge in his veins, but the sun is shining through the clouds, bright and tempting. He turns to the other bed where Hansol is sprawled in an undignified pile, and smiles. 

They go to Pike Place Market that afternoon, trying salmon piroshki and looking over the farmer’s market. Hansol loses an hour in the lower levels of trinket shops and Seungcheol tries freshly made doughnut holes sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. 

The sea meets the shore and soaks into the docks, close enough that he can smell the salt. Unexpected greenery curls around street corners like botanical kisses. They take pictures near the market sign and listen to a man play a street piano and Seungcheol feels light as air. 

He’s always loved the bustle of crowds, felt energized in them, felt alive. Seattle has crowds in spades. When they finally leave, taking the van over the mountains, Seungcheol sings along to the radio, even if he doesn’t know the words. 

Hansol laughs, but it’s with him, not at him. It’s a good start to their vacation.

* * *

It would be a lie to say things go downhill from there. They don’t. When they finally make it to Yosemite two days later, Seungcheol spends a breathless afternoon climbing to the top of a hill to see all the park spread out before him, a view so clear the air tastes like diamonds. 

Seungcheol waves Hansol over and they take pictures of each other with their arms spread wide as the sky.

Later, Seungcheol follows him around the gift shop, watching Hansol pick out a sweater for his mom, and can’t quite stop his feet from tapping. 

Things don’t go downhill. What happens is Seungcheol gets restless.

They sleep in a cabin that night, with evergreens rising beyond their windows. Seungcheol watches Hansol sleeping across the room and tries to fall asleep, but the road is in his blood now, leaving him buzzing. 

He hadn’t noticed it happen, but it makes sense. Being in America has meant being ready to perform, and some part of him is ready to step on stage. He could throw his voice into the bowl of Yosemite Valley and have it bounce back to him, could run through the woods to their leafy applause.

On tours, he sits with Wonwoo during times like this. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, trading back and forth quiet words until Seungcheol can feel sleep tugging at his bones. Hands and hearts and midnight conversations are what anchor him away from the stage. They're how Seungcheol returns from within himself, and sets S. Coups aside for an evening.

The cell reception isn’t great out here—all that Seungcheol has managed to get out is a brief call to his mother and a couple of kakaotalk messages, but the urge to call Wonwoo is like a missing limb. It’s 6am in South Korea. He keeps his phone tucked away.

When Seungcheol finally gets to sleep, it’s with words tapping at the back of his teeth and a name tangled up on his tongue. He doesn’t dream.

* * *

They drive out of the park the next day. The sun peeks over the horizon turning everything pink and gold. In the upper reaches of Wyoming, the wind rolls around the trees like it’s trying to break free, and all roads lead towards Rapid City. Seungcheol’s not sure exactly what’s in South Dakota, but he’s excited to find out. 

There aren’t any major turning points on the road, and Hansol’s phone has led them straight east so far, so it should be impossible to get lost. At least that’s what Seungcheol thinks before Hansol’s phone dies.

Quite suddenly, the road becomes a lot more open and a lot more empty. 

“Can you pull up the directions on my phone?” Seungcheol asks. He’s the one driving today, one eye on the road, one on Hansol.

“Sure,” Hansol says. He spends a couple of minutes flicking through Seungcheol’s maps app but instead of looking relieved when he puts it down, he looks worried. “Is your data off?”

“It shouldn’t be, why?” 

Hansol taps a couple more buttons. “I think we’ve lost signal.”

“...entirely? Maps are down?”

A long pause from Hansol’s end. “I think so. Do you know where we’re going?”

“Maybe?” Seungcheol squints at the road, trying to remember what it’s called. They haven’t seen a road sign in miles, but neither have there been any places to turn.

The thing about this trip is that it’s _long._ Seungcheol is slowly getting used to driving and driving and driving and driving with no end in sight, but it still throws him for a loop. Distances stretch like taffy when he’s the one behind the steering wheel. 

This stretch of road, bordered by grass-flecked rock, looks just about the same as all the others they’ve driven through in the last four hours. 

Hansol puts the phone down and rests his chin on his palm. “There’s not too many turn offs until we get to Rapid City, right? It should be fine.”

Seungcheol nods. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

* * *

They get _really_ lost.

“This is not Rapid City,” Seungcheol says. It’s stating the obvious, but he can’t quite help himself. 

It turns out all roads do not lead towards Rapid City, and the endless expanse of Wyoming has set them down in a flat, small town humming with bugs, the name of which Seungcheol has already forgotten.

“It’s not,” Hansol says, because he doesn’t mind repeating things for Seungcheol’s benefit. They’re standing in a tiny convenience store, and Seungcheol can feel his toes tapping in his shoes. It’s dark by now, and he can’t stop himself from throwing glances outside. 

They book two separate rooms that night at the hotel and Seungcheol breathes a sigh of relief when the door closes. No one knows who he is here. He’s still undecided on whether it’s a good thing or not. 

Hansol knocks on his door a minute later. When Seungcheol opens it, Hansol holds up a container of takeout, consisting mainly of fast food. 

“I walked over while you were talking to the front desk.” He sets the food down and flops stomach first onto Seungcheol’s bed. 

“Thanks,” Seungcheol replies. "What'd you get?"

They finally have service again, and Seungcheol uses the connection to send a picture of Hansol to their group chat. It’s _early_ early where most of them are, and he doesn’t get any responses, but Hansol’s phone chimes. 

“Do I want to know?” Hansol laughs, stretching. A flash of skin peeks out from beneath his hoodie. "I got some fries, and some burgers, I wasn't sure what you wanted, and there weren't too many options."

“You’ll see it eventually,” Seungcheol laughs back. It’s nice having Hansol in the room, he takes up space in a way that’s steady, makes the air clearer. 

Hansol rambles about the forest they saw yesterday as they eat, gesturing with a fry to illustrate a point. Seungcheol stands near him, stealing fries while he's not looking. They’re out in the plains now. Tomorrow they’re stopping in The Badlands. 

“Junhui-hyung wants to know if we’ve seen any cool birds,” Hansol says, when his phone pings. Seungcheol doesn't want to know why Junhui's awake. It must be before dawn in Shenzhen, where Junhui is taking his vacation with Minghao.

Seungcheol had, in fact, bought a tiny glass bird in the last gift shop they were in. It has wings so delicate they resemble those of butterflies. It reminded him of Junhui. “What about that hawk we saw on the highway? Did we get a picture?” he asks Hansol.

“I did! I’ll send it,” Hansol says. A few seconds later, Seungcheol can feel it buzz through in the group chat.

Checking the group chat himself, he can see Junhui sending a series of selfies, and a request for more bird pictures. _the weather’s perfect in shenzhen, come and visit next time!!_

 _only if you show us around,_ Seungcheol sends back, ignoring all probability of being able to do so soon. That’s a thing he’s been doing a lot recently. Making promises he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to fulfill. His feet start tapping again.

Hansol gives him a look from across the room, impossible to ignore. “Are you doing ok?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you haven’t sat down once since we got here,” Hansol says. “I don’t think there’s any bed bugs in the furniture.” It’s the flimsiest excuse Seungcheol has ever heard, but he can hear Hansol giving him an out.

The hotel room is small enough that it’s only two steps to Hansol’s side. Seungcheol falls onto the bed, and coincidentally also over Hansol’s chest. Hansol wraps an arm over his shoulder, easy as anything. “I didn’t realize that,” Seungcheol says into his shoulder. It’s not Seungcheol-the-leader who says that. It’s not even Seungcheol-of-Seventeen. It’s Choi Seungcheol, who has the road itching in his bones and the future hanging on his shoulders like a funeral shroud.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Hansol asks him.

“Not really,” Seungcheol returns. Normally he would, but this particular knot in his throat refuses to budge.

“Ok,” Hansol says, and pulls out his phone. Seungcheol's not sure what he does—write lyrics or play a phone game or text someone, but it's quiet. 

Seungcheol puts his ear to Hansol's chest and listens to the living sound of him. Blood and breathing and a quiet hum echo all through the cathedral of Hansol’s ribs. To that reassuring symphony, Seungcheol closes his eyes. Without intending to, he falls asleep.

_“Your move,” Wonwoo tells him, and moves one of the chess pieces._

_“What are we playing?” asks Seungcheol. He can’t quite decipher the game in front of him, made of too many boards and pieces that he can’t quite see. Something that looks like a yut stick shifts and morphs while he looks at it, becomes a mahjong tile. There must be two dozen tiles, all with mirage-like edges._

_“You don’t know?” Wonwoo asks, and Seungcheol frowns. Not because he doesn’t know (he doesn't), but because Wonwoo isn’t the type to prevaricate. He’s the type of person that likes explaining things._

_With a huff, Seungcheol gets up. “I won’t know unless you tell me.” He walks around to Wonwoo’s side of the board and takes the hand Wonwoo was holding the chess piece with. He laces their fingers together._

_Wonwoo taps his thumb on the back of Seungcheol’s hand and hums. “I think... we’re not playing on different sides at all."  
_

_A wave of go stones approaches from this distant horizon and threatens to swallow them whole._

_Wonwoo holds on. “I think we’re on the same team.”_

Seungcheol wakes up with a start. 

There’s something tickling the back of his mind, something about games, or maybe stones. He shakes it off as he looks around. Hansol had gotten up sometime while he was asleep and thrown a blanket over him. The sun is just peaking over the horizon.

He stretches, and every bone in his body snaps back into place. 

It’s time to get back on the road.

* * *

They drive through The Badlands, through Chicago (sending pictures of the pizza to Seokmin), and all the way out to New York, all the way out until they can touch another ocean, half a globe away from home. 

There’s more worry about being recognized here, and Seungcheol wears a mask every time they get out of the van. It’s a comforting vehicle by now. They’ve driven it through rocks and forests and hills, all that distance made into memory. Maybe it’s stupid to feel attached, but Seungcheol is going to miss it. 

Maybe Hansol feels the same way, because he insists they take a picture with the car before returning it to the rental agency. 

“Feeling nostalgic?” Seungcheol teases, posing for the selca. 

“Sure, aren’t we all?” Hansol answers. 

That quiets Seungcheol until they’re back at their last hotel. 

Hansol’s right. Seungcheol under no illusions of why the other man agreed to this trip. They only have a few more weeks, and everything will be changed forever. Not gone maybe, but never the same again. This is the only time they can take this trip as the two of them. As this Seungcheol and this Hansol.

“Will you miss it?” he asks as they get out of the elevator. Meaning this journey. Meaning these selves. 

Hansol cards open the door to their room and pulls his suitcase in. “Maybe,” he says, like it’s simple. “But I think we’re always missing things. That’s part of life, just as much as the rest of it.”

The words are simple but not easy. Seungcheol drops his suitcase near the foot of his bed and lies face first on the covers. “Hansollie,” he says, trusting the other man to understand what he means.

“Yeah, I think I will,” Hansol says in response. “We’re good like this. All of us are.”

“Me too,” Seungcheol says. It feels almost like a confession. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

“You’ll figure it out. Did you see what you wanted on this trip?” Hansol asks. Seungcheol can hear New York beyond their window, a thousand people walking and driving and shouting and living beyond the glass. But he’s not focusing on them. He’s focusing on the room within their room, the way conversation shapes a space between them, into which he can say:

“No. I didn’t.” He rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. “I don’t think what I was looking for was here.”

“What, you didn’t like the mountains?” Hansol’s voice is warm. Kind. Like he’s reaching into Seungcheol and setting a hand to the fear living between his lungs.

“I still think the mountains don't like me,” Seungcheol says, remembering a particularly steep trail he had tripped and bruised himself on. “No, it’s not that. I just… realized I was running away from something, instead of traveling towards it. Who- What I want to see isn’t here.”

Hansol looks at him, and thankfully doesn't start laughing. Seungcheol thinks his words must sound obvious in retrospect, even if they're a revelation now. “I’m glad, hyung.”

“Thanks for coming with me,” Seungcheol says. His heart swells with gratitude, that Hansol made this trip with him. That they have the time to be like this, easy and light. Seungcheol has never needed grand gestures or unreasonable displays of devotion. All he’s ever wanted is this. Friends by his side and friends a call away, and a family, waiting for him at home.

“I’m glad you invited me,” Hansol says, genuine. He pulls a new beanie from out of his suitcase. “I’m going down to the lobby to find food, do you want to come with me?”

“No, just find me something good,” Seungcheol says. 

“Fine, but don’t blame me if you don’t like it,” Hansol laughs, and walks out. He'll return soon.

Seungcheol lays there a moment. In less than a day he’ll be flying back to Incheon, back to his members and family again. There’ll be more meetings and more press releases and more stress. There’ll be Wonwoo, too.

An unbearable fondness rises at the thought of him—something Seungcheol could never hide. When they talk, Wonwoo’s voice tugs on his heart with every syllable, a pull that never hurts. 

Wonwoo never hurts. It’s everything around them that does. 

In South Korea, it's nearly 9am. Wonwoo is probably barely awake, blinking in the morning light. Seungcheol’s phone is in his hand. 

He calls.

Wonwoo picks up on the third ring. "Seungcheol? What's up?"

"Nothing," Seungcheol says. His body unwinds at the sound of his voice. "I just missed you."

**Author's Note:**

> i think this could have been a longer fic, but in the end, it is what it is. if you know how distances in america work, please look away from the handwaving here <3
> 
> i'm on twitter/cc @lavenderim
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this, i would love to hear your thoughts!!


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